


The Birth of Anteros

by harleygirl2648



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Falling In Love, Food Porn, Love, M/M, Sexual Tension, Teacher-Student Relationship, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Graham Knows, kind of?, lots of art, ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleygirl2648/pseuds/harleygirl2648
Summary: AU: Will Graham takes a leave of absence after an incident in New Orleans, and accepts a position as a profiler for Rinaldo Pazzi on the Il Monstro case.





	The Birth of Anteros

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honorablementioned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honorablementioned/gifts).



> Hello, everyone! The lovely eveninginwithyourgirlfriend on Tumblr commissioned this work, and here it is! I hope it's everything you wanted!

_Then_

 

Florence in February is bracing, the wind nips at any exposed skin it can get ahold of. Will Graham wrapped his dark blue scarf around his neck to keep the wind at bay, and handed over some coins to the sellar on the sidewalk for a newspaper. His Italian was more than a little rusty, having studied the language for only a month prior to this trip. However, it wasn’t too difficult to translate the headline into plain English: _The Monster of Florence Claims Another!_

 

Will got a cup of coffee with a shot of espresso and biscotti, his usual, and settled into a corner table at the cafe near his hotel, reading the newspaper with his copy of an Italian/English dictionary. So far, besides a description of the crimes that required the additional purchase of a more sensational paper, there seemed to be no new evidence uncovered.

 

He stirred his coffee with a spoon, hearing it clink against the sides of the cup and the sounds mixing with the quiet hum of the café, the buzzing of conversations and the mechanical pourings of fresh espresso shots and steamed milk. Much more of a relaxed atmosphere than the dry, corporate nature of the 5th district New Orleans police department, with its patch plaster on the walls and always-burned coffee. These past two weeks had been a welcome break that he looked forward to continuing in the upcoming weeks.

 

He checked his watch, and got up from the table, keeping the paper folded into his leather bag before leaving his leftovers on the table to be cleared by the staff, and leaving the cafe. He managed to hail a cab outside and state that he’d like to be taken to the Uffizi Gallery. The cab driver gave a disinterested nod, focused on a motorcyclist that had pulled in front of them. Will didn’t mind, resting his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. Images of the latest _ll Monstro_ murder flashed in his mind: it had been another couple, this time. But more gruesome than the last ‘display,’ yes, that was it, a  _display_ , a true crime  _scene._

 

The first had been the simplest: two hearts, one from each couple, cleanly removed and all the connective nerves and tissues tiled together and left on the floor between them.

 

The second: the woman in the couple had a clean broken neck, her best china platter on her lap with her lover’s cleanly sliced head resting there.

 

Now, perhaps the rawest crime of them all: two men, nude, one dead from a stab wound into the heart; the other, dead from a bite into his neck. Perhaps a knife was used as well but there were clear bite marks in the victim’s neck, and perhaps most disturbing of all, his blood found smeared on and in his lover’s mouth. No other body matter was found there, however, and the teeth marks weren’t a match. It was yet another layer in a case with no clear answers at all. And every single scene included parts taken from each corpse, and never found again.

 

Will only opened his eyes when the cab came to his stop, and he paid the driver with an abrupt  _‘grazi’_ and left a decent tip before leaving the cab and entering the gallery. He picked up a map of the gallery and started wandering down the long hallways and winding around other patrons. He’d never really been one for fine art, never having been his particular hobby or interest, but it was something to see artwork he’d only viewed in passing glances at glossy pages in the art display books at the local library.

 

He had only a few minutes until he had to attend the lecture Commander Pazzi had told him to be at, and he was on his way to grab a seat, but stopped at Artemisia Gentileschi’s  _Judith Slaying Holofernes_ when it caught his attention. He focused on the work before him, tilting his head as he looked over the paintworks, the raw passion and anger in the image, the dark blood that seemed to drip out of the frame and onto the floor of the gallery. He snapped back to himself when his ears started ringing at the memory of certain sounds, and then realized the lecture had started minutes ago and was already underway. He sighed, turning away from the artwork and walking towards the conference room with the simple display sign in Italian he didn’t bother to translate as he slowly opened the door further than the small crack already present.

 

The light spread across the floor, attracting Hannibal Lecter’s attention as he continued his lecture on Dante’s order of the circles of his hell. Irritation rose up in his veins at the rude interruption, looking up from his slides to quickly glance in that direction, and was met with white light surrounding brown curls. The stunning visage was there for mere seconds before the - _man_ closed the door and went to the nearest open seat, an aisle seat in the back rows.

 

Will slipped into the seat, ignoring the quick, stern glance he could feel from the woman sitting beside him. He brushed his hair from his face and focused his eyes forward, meeting those of the lecturer for a brief second. The lecturer broke the eye contact first, going back to his talking point.

 

Will kept his eyes trained forward on the woodcut projected on the big screen before the crowd, until his gaze drifted to the lecturer making his way up and down the divider between the rows of chairs as he spoke, reciting a fragment of the  _Inferno_. Will looked forward again as the lecturer came closer, when he could hear his voice so close that he knew he was beside him, the slight vibration of his chair when the lecturer rested his fingers for a few seconds on the back of it before moving on. He kept his eyes trained to the front of the room when the lecturer came back to the front of the room again to change his slide. Bouguereau’s  _Dante and Virgil_ in all of its glory was projected onto the screen, and the striking image of two souls engaged in bloody combat washed over the lecturer’s face.

 

Somehow, through the piercing light and gruesome imagery, Hannibal Lecter’s eyes still found the latecomer’s eyes in the crowd, and they were locked in a lingering gaze that flickered on and off throughout the entire presentation.

 

When it was finally over with and he basked in the applause in the new light that flooded the room, he broke the gaze to turn to his co-presenter who had gone before him. They began a conversation over the other’s thesis, as Will stood from his chair. He barely made a step in any direction when he was met by Commander Pazzi. “Ah, you came.”

 

“I said that I would,” Will responded with a cordial nod. “It was - enlightening, you were correct.”

 

“Truly a spectacle, these lectures, I knew you would enjoy listening.” Will nodded along to the words flowing Pazzi’s mouth and not a single one registered as they made their way to the front of the room, to the two presenters deep in conversation when Pazzi started in again. “Signor Ricci, pardon.” The other man nodded, gathering up his papers and leaving as the other man turned around.

 

 _“Buon pomeriggio, Commentatori Pazzi,”_ Hannibal said in flawless Italian with even a slight accent to match. “A pleasure to see you again. I hope my lecture has provided you with any information necessary to your case.”

 

“Ah, even if that were not the case, I never miss a good lecture,” Pazzi responded easily. “Yours are far more intriguing than Ricci’s, any day. You could have his position in a short time.”

 

“A high compliment from a man such as yourself,” Hannibal said, flattery winning him over with Pazzi every time. Pazzi smirked a bit before waving his hand in the direction of the latecomer.

 

“Forgive my rudeness,  _professore_ , this is my new assistant, flown in from the States. Signor Will Graham, Professore Hannibal Lecter, from the local college.”

 

Will looked directly into his eyes as he extended a hand, and Hannibal held the gaze as he reached out and took his hand in a firm grasp and handshake. Not tight enough to cause pain, but a strong grip.

 

“I’m sorry for being late,” Will told him as a greeting, a hint of - something in his voice that even he was barely aware of. “This place is easy to get lost in.”

 

“No need for an apology,” Hannibal replied smoothly, “It is a little labyrinthine the first few visits one makes.” Will gave a slight nod, his absolutely - piercing gaze barely letting up. Hannibal’s next words were far too easy to say. “I’ve invited the  _commendatore_ to dinner along with his wife this evening. I would be glad to extend the invitation to you, as well.”

 

The corners of Will’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly, and he said, “Thank you, I think I will.”

 

Potentially they could have kept speaking for a few more minutes, but Pazzi wanted to go over the new case with Will so they bid the doctor a goodbye. Hannibal’s tongue ran over one of his sharp canines as they left, gathering his materials to prep an extra portion for dinner.

 

 

 

 _“Pici alla ragù di cinta senese,”_ Hannibal presented, setting a plate of dish down before Pazzi and his wife Allegra, pausing to wipe the side of the plate before setting it down before Will, sitting down and explaining to him, “Hand-rolled pasta in a wild boar ragu.” Will looked up from his plate at him, nodding slightly.

 

“Thank you.” He picked up his fork and tasted it. “It’s delicious.” A smile spread across Hannibal’s face as he turned back to his own plate. He tuned out Pazzi’s rather tiresome explanation of how Hannibal was researching his family line back through the Renaissance time in favor of casting his eyes in Will’s direction instead. It was rewarded with Will returning the look every few minutes.

 

After the pasta course was complete, Hannibal cleared the plates and brought in the main course,  _peposo alla Florentina_ , and placed a plate before each guest before serving himself. It was quiet for a few moments as everyone enjoyed the meal.

 

Hannibal broke the silence after a time, twirling his wine glass by the stem. “So, Mr. Graham,” he offered casually, “Where were you before you accepted Rinaldo’s offer?”

 

Will raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, carefully cutting a section of the meat drowning in a red wine sauce in half. “New Orleans,” he stated, the slight drawl of an accent on the words rolling off of his lips, and Hannibal unconsciously leaned forward at the words. “I was a cop.”

 

 _“Was,_ that’s an interesting word to use.”

 

“A stabbing while I was on duty, I’m on leave for my physical and mental health, or so they say,” Will said, picking up his own wine glass. “I think they were afraid I’d sue because they didn’t assign me a partner for my shift.” He took a sip from the wine and seemed to stare right through Hannibal and they both held the gaze as he set the glass back down onto the table.

 

Throughout the rest of the dinner, and even veering into dessert and sherry, it was almost a game between the two of them: casting glances at each other, waiting for the other to break eye contact. Hannibal barely brushed by Will as he filled his coffee, nearly startling him, and it felt like he had control of the situation again. As he should, in his own loft and with the head of the police department that he was easily fooling at every turn. Pazzi’s new American consultant wouldn’t change that. And if he tried, he could remedy that.

 

Pazzi and his wife left, catching their own taxi, and Will finished his cup of coffee, setting it down on the table. “I can take it to the kitchen, don’t have to leave it here.”

 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll take it myself.”

 

“Thank you,” Will said, standing up from his chair and stretching his neck out, slowly until there was a resounding crack. “Dinner was good, as well.” He started walking towards the door, reaching for his coat on the coat rack, only for Hannibal to beat him by a few steps and removing the coat himself, extending it out to Will. He intended to leave it at that but he changed his mind. “Will you be in Florence long?” he asked Will. Will simply shrugged.

 

“I haven’t decided yet.”

 

“Florence is a beautiful city, have you seen much of it?”

 

“Not much, only been here about a week.” Will tilted his head to the side after he spoke, before asking with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Are you offering to show me around, professor?” he pressed, accentuating the title in almost a mockery.

 

“If you would like,” Hannibal replied back smoothly. “I’ve been in the city for a few years, now. It would be - interesting, to show it to someone else.”

 

Will reached out to take his coat from Hannibal, pausing as his fingers slowly grazed his under the fabric, meeting his eyes yet again without looking away. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, professor. Good night.”

 

And then he was gone with a dark blue overcoat draped over his shoulder and the door was closed behind him.

 

 

 

As it turned out, they both kept up on their end.

 

Will had several daily meetings with Pazzi and going over case evidence, even though it seemed as though Il Monstro’s reign was on hold at the moment. It seemed as though Pazzi was willing to let Will go most afternoons, and give him that weekend off. After consulting, however, Will always seemed to ‘run into’ Hannibal Lecter. Sometimes, he would stop at his favorite cafe for espresso and biscotti and find him there going over old letters in a small corner booth, and Will would then sit opposite him with his own case files. Sometimes they wouldn’t say a word at all. Other times, they discussed their work.

 

Hannibal extended an invitation to his next lecture to Will, which was not at the museum, but rather, an exhibition hall not far from the gallery, located at the institution he was currently working at. “It’s a rather important event.”

 

“I don’t do black tie very often,” Will said, his style of bone-dry wit that Hannibal had grown accustomed to these past few days. “But I might make an exception.”

 

What Will also accepted, after an afternoon of touring the  _Piazza della Signoria_ and listening to a half-lecture on Cellini’s statue of Perseus grasping the head of Medusa with a fistful of dying, writhing snakes, was an invitation to dinner back at Hannibal’s loft. Hannibal took his coat as he did last time, while Will undid his scarf from around his neck and handed it to him as well.

 

“Please, follow me,” Hannibal asked with a smile, turning and walking towards the kitchen and Will followed behind him. He set out a plate of assorted  _tagliere_ and liver crostini on the kitchen table, pouring two glasses of Chianti for them both. “I am glad you chose to accept my invitation, I hate to have too many leftovers.”

 

“Then you wouldn’t like my fridge at home,” Will replied, biting into a crostino.

 

The corners of Hannibal’s lips tilted up. “Do you cook often?”

 

“Usually after a night shift, it’s too much effort. I cook fish a lot, when I go out. Do you fish, _professor?”_ Every time Will said that title, it was slightly mocking, teasing, and it was both aggravating and intriguing all at once.

 

Unable to resist as he finished preparing dinner, Hannibal replied, “Occasionally.”

 

Will smiled ever so slightly as he brought the wineglass to his lips. “What are you making?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the meat ready to be carved.

 

 _“Bistecca alla Florentina,”_ Hannibal presented, pulling a sharp knife from the block mere feet away from Will. “A traditional dish, with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and I roasted it over chestnuts for a smoky note. I’d been wishing to perfect it for some time now, I’m glad you could share this with me tonight.”

 

“It smells delicious,” Will said, carrying both glasses and the bottle to the dining room table as Hannibal brought in the food. He set a plate down before Will, set one at his own place, and then sat down in his chair.

 

It was a quiet meal, like many they had shared over the past seven days. Whether it was a cup of espresso and a pastry in a cafe, a small appetizer at a local spot, or that dinner at a trattoria not far from the Uffizi Gallery, it was quite, scattered conversation here and there. Will learned that Hannibal was studying for a PhD in psychiatry  _(“therapy is a waste of time for me,” he had told him dismissively)_ and Will’s leave of absence was to decide if he was going to go back to the front lines of the police force.

 

“Would you say,” Hannibal began, cutting through the meat on his plate midway through the meal, “that you’re haunted, traumatized by what happened to you?”

 

Will sipped from his wine glass. “No. I wouldn't say that.”

 

“What would you say, then?”

 

Will’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “You can ask me when you become a doctor.”

 

It was such an - _irking_ statement, digging under the skin the way all of Will’s comments did. Hard, biting, snippy.

 

Yet _pleasant,_ in an intriguing way.

 

Dessert, coffee, and another glass of wine after dinner was all offered by Hannibal after dinner and Will accepted each offer. He didn’t ask to stay a bit longer, ask for anything at all except his coat. Hannibal felt irritated by that for someone unknown reason to himself. It was a strange twist of emotions, of Will taking his scarf and folding it around his neck, casually explaining how he was going to be out of Florence for his free weekend, traveling in the scenic parts of the outskirt towns.

 

Hannibal pretended not to watch as the scarf slipped through Will’s fingers, and felt two strong urges at once: pulling him in close with the scarf and making him stay, or taking the scarf and pulling hard at both ends until he was choking for air until all of his teasing words were silent.

 

“Thank you for dinner,” Will told Hannibal, snapping him out of his thoughts with his words and taking the coat from his hand, his fingers brushing against Hannibal’s under the fabric of the coat. There was - something behind Will’s eyes that was just -  _aggravating_ , as he slipped the coat on and left through the door with a simple goodbye. Hannibal waited exactly fifteen minutes before getting his own coat and leaving with a bag hanging from his side.

 

 

 

“We think we’re safe, and this happens,” Pazzi muttered, lighting a cigarette from the other side of the police tape at the fresh crime scene that very next morning. Will didn’t listen to what he said, focusing on the bowman's broken neck and her husband at her feet, with a stake driven right through his skull, a mallet left nearby at her side. “No fingerprints, no nothing. Same shit, different day.”

 

Will looked at the corpses, and noted the parts of the body that had been cleanly removed with a sharp blade, letting his eyes drift shut and felt blood drip from his hands. He opened his eyes again, and followed Pazzi out to finish a report.

 

 _“Commendatore,_ a pleasure,”Hannibal said, getting up from his small work desk in the archives. Pazzi complained about the hectic morning and discussing bits of family history in an effort to clear his head. Hannibal nodded, listening to what he said but his eyes drifted over Pazzi’s shoulder to where Will was flipping through a reference of Renaissance paintings. After Pazzi finally left to have another cigarette, Hannibal silently walked up behind Will, inhaling the pine and sage cologne. Will didn’t comment, simply turning around. “May I help you?”

 

The book was open to Gentileschi’s _Jael and Sisera,_ the tent pole prepped on his skull and the mallet clutched in her hand. Will’s smile was barely present.

 

“I simply wanted to ask if you would join me for dinner tonight,” Hannibal asked him, head cocked to the side in fascination.

 

Will’s smile grew. “I would be glad to.”

 

 

 

There were no appetizers, no pasta courses or salads or crostini or anything else before the dinner that night. Will was seated with a glass of Burgundy at the table and a dish was placed in the middle so Hannibal carved portions for them both.

 

“Pork loin,” Will said in a thoughtful tone as it was placed before him. Hannibal nodded, sitting at his own chair and placed a forkful of the dish into his mouth. He watched as Will carefully cut through the meat and put a piece into his mouth, chewing slowly.

 

He looked back at Hannibal from across the table. “It’s delicious.”

 

He finished the plate, offered to carry both plates back to the kitchen sink. As he did so, he heard one uneven step behind him, and familiar feelings flowed back and something bloomed red in his vision and he reacted, snatching the nearest knife from the block and spun around, slicing right through a sleeve and his blade scraping against the blade of a linoleum knife, making a hideous sound.

 

The tattered remains of Hannibal’s sleeve fell to the floor as they stared into each other’s eyes, Will visibly and audibly breathing hard.

 

Then the knives clattered to the ground as they stepped impossibly closer and their thoughts melted together as their lips met.

 

 

 

“I wasn't the one that got stabbed that night,” Will hummed, sinking back against the sheets later that night, watching as Hannibal stirred coffee on the desk. Hannibal smile back at him.

 

“I’ve been able to deduce that.”

 

Will smirked, stretching out his back and neck, letting Hannibal's eyes drift over him as he performed the action, laughing. “I was in a standoff by myself, got him to lower the gun, thought it was safe to approach. He pulled a knife, I got it away from him but I - didn’t put it down. Jugular vein. Got myself in the thigh for an alibi.”

“Impressive, if your superiors believed that.”

 

“It’s either that or believing in the alternative. And the alternative is something they don’t even want to consider.”

 

Hannibal turns, setting coffee down on the bedside table coasters and sitting down on the other side of the bed beside Will, leaning down and kissing him again. “Is that why you were drawn to me? I embody what you’ve only done once?”

 

Will laughed. “You were drawn to me. I lied about leaving this weekend.”

 

“You try my patience. Every single instance of being near you, you try my patience.”

 

“That’s why I do it. You’re obvious when you stare at me,” Will laughed again, melting into another kiss and everything was lost to the night.

 

 

 

“Anteros, god of requited love and avenger of unrequited love. A counterpoint to Eros, for love must be requited if it must prosper,” Hannibal said, clicking through slides of cherubs in fresco paintings. “Instead of bird wings, he is often portrayed with butterfly wings.”

 

As he spoke, he walked down the aisle, reciting from Plato’s work, his eyes occasionally drifted over to where Will was sitting with his hands resting on his knee, looking back at him. It was difficult to not openly smile back during the lecture he’d spent weeks preparing for, but it was tempting. He nudged Will’s chair as he passed him and Will smiled back at him. Both of them ignored the stern looks from Pazzi from his chair in the corner.

 

“...and as an emotion, Plato states that after love is returned, it fills them both with pain when apart and relief when together. A mirror image, thus  _anteros.”_

 

Will’s smile, mostly in his eyes like always, is visible even though the darkness of the room.

 

 

 

His hand touches Hannibal’s as they sit in front of the Primavera after the lecture and the reception, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled up to his elbows from the dance earlier that night. “I’m leaving tonight.”

 

It’s the worst thing to hear when Hannibal had been informed early in the afternoon, when Will explained what had happened that day.

 

_“If I test these fingerprints,” Pazzi leered over at Will as he pulled the water glass Will sat down closer to him, “I’ll find that these match yours along with your Il Monstro’s on the neck of today’s victim. I can send away for follicle testing.”_

_Will dug his nails into the table and hsi mind flashed back to digging them deep into the neck he tore apart the night before. He stared straight ahead as Pazzi leaned into his ear._

 

_“Unless you tell me who is Il Monstro. I have a very good guess.”_

 

_Will’s nails scraped off the wood finishes._

 

_“Then I would either confess or give him up, amico.”_

 

Will looked back at Hannibal as their grip tightened. “I’m leaving tonight, he’ll frame you by tomorrow.”

 

“I had intended to frame you when we first met,” Hannibal admits. Will shook his head, laughing.

 

“And I intended to turn you in.” His smile sobered up, looking back at the painting, at how the brush strokes seems to glide down the page and drip onto the floor. “You were right, last night.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Don’t be smug. It _is_ black, in the moonlight.”

 

They both stared ahead, and when the gallery closed, they both left without saying goodbye to the other.

 

That way, this wouldn’t have a definite ending. This way, it wouldn’t fracture.

 

The back of Will’s head hit the back of an airline seat, and he closed his eyes, darkness and blood swelling behind his eyelids.

 

 

 

When Pazzi returned to his apartment, his wife was not there. Hannibal looked up from stirring at the stove, smiling at him, teeth showing.

 

_“Bonsoir.”_

 

 

Will doesn't hear from Pazzi again, and he doesn’t search him out.

 

 

All of those days and weeks fade into the raging sea in his mind.

 

 

 

 

_Now_

 

“...and I appreciate that you accepted Dr. Bloom’s recommendation to work as a consultant for one of my profilers, Doctor,” Jack Crawford told Dr. Hannibal Lecter as he leads him through the hallways at Quantico.

 

“It’s a pleasure to assist, and Dr. Bloom has my highest respect,” Hannibal told him, following behind like an obedient dog. Jack nodded like he wasn’t listening, checking an update on his phone.

 

“Yes, I suppose so, just a moment, he’s just finishing class,” Jack told him, distracted. And quite rudely, in Hannibal’s opinion, opened the door just as the lecture was finishing.

 

And his breath stopped before he could let it out of his lungs when Will Graham was - finishing a lecture. Looking bored with the entire affair, arms folded across each other as he leaned up against his desk in front of a projected gory image of a copycat Chesapeake Ripper scene.

 

At least, he looked bored until his eyes drifted to the opened door and they lit up through the glasses resting low on his nose. He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms so he could grab the table with his hands and finished his lecture on criminal profiling the copycat killer. Hannibal's smile pulls at the corners of his lips, graciously stepping aside to let students pass as the lecture ends and he and Jack approach Will up at the front of the room. Will slowly leaned back up to his feet, knocking his sandy brown jacket ot the ground on accident. Hannibal leaned down, picking it up as Jack introduced him. “Will, this is Dr. Lecter, your assigned therapist.”

 

“I told you I don’t need a therapist,” Will told him, just as brash and rude and perfect as Hannibal remembered. Jack narrowed his eyes at him but Will was already turning around and giving Hannibal his complete and undivided attention. “I suppose it’s good to meet you, _Doctor,”_ he said to him, _‘doctor’_ rolling off of his tongue in such a familiar way that Hannibal could feel it down his spine unlike anything else.

 

“A pleasure, Will,” he told him, tilting his head to the side. “Jack tells me that you’re struggling with the repercussions of looking into the mind of the Chesapeake Ripper.”

 

Will still has that faint little smile. “More so the copycat. Keeps me up at night, you know?”

 

“I have a free section this evening at five, you are welcome to come tonight for an informal appointment.”

 

“Thank you, _Doctor,”_ Will told him, slinging his bag over his shoulder and reaching out for his coat. Instead of fingers brushing, they touched hands for an extra beat before Will pulled away. “Papers to grade, excuse me.”

 

Jack Crawford was rattling off his concerns about Will’s mental health, and Hannibal didn’t listen to a word as he watched Will walk away.

 

 

 

Hannibal opened the door to his office to Will sitting at a chair outside, and he smiled. “Come in.”

 

Will got up from the chair and walked right in like he owned the office, going straight for the desk instead of the patient’s usual chair, and leaning up against it, legs spread and gripping the side of it, cocking his head and smiling a little more broadly. “What do you want to discuss?”

 

Hannibal played along. “Therapy is about you, Will. You mentioned you were having trouble sleeping over the copycat killer, his thoughts and fantasies mixing in with yours.”

 

“And all that blood is a bitch to wash off,” Will grinned, looking right through him. “And the Ripper hasn't responded to me once yet.”

 

Hannibal stepped towards him slowly, until he was invading his personal space, stepping into the space between his legs. “Are you confessing to something, Will?” he said, his teasing completely deadpan.

 

“I know my rights, Doctor, you don’t break confidentiality for past crimes. You just have to report if you _think_ that I might commit one in the future.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes drifted down to Will’s amused ones, and a smile spread across both of their lips. “And will you?”

 

“I might. _Quid pro quo,_ doctor. Tell me things, I’ll tell you things.”

 

“What should I tell you?”

 

“What you didn’t in Florence.”

 

They had moved even closer as the words were spoken, until their lips were brushing and Hannibal murmured softly, pretenses dropped around Will like they always were. “I love you.”

 

“I love you,” Will murmured back, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss that was eagerly reciprocated. When they broke apart, Will was grinning. “Would you care to come over for dinner? I borrowed your - pork recipe.”

 

Hannibal could only smile in wonderment. “I’d follow you off the end of the earth, seeing you again now.”

 

“I might take you up on that offer,” Will smiled back, leaning in to kiss him again, under the cover of early evening and the barest twinkling of the stars and the faint outline of the moon outside.

 

 

It was beautiful.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please leave all the comments and kudos you like! I love responding to them!
> 
> Come visit me and find ways to send me love and support (and coffees!!!) on [Tumblr](http://somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds.tumblr.com)!


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